


Tether

by PepperPrints



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he thought about Chris Redfield, he imagined a thin but excessive chain between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tether

**Author's Note:**

> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: excessive chain. 
> 
> I was asked to do something based on if Chris alone had been at the Spencer Estate, and I wanted to try to write a prompt without any dialogue. It's a little odd, but this is the result. This is also inspired by Wesker's "forever intertwined" line, unsurprisingly.

Spencer's blood didn't even show on his clothing. The leather had a slick shine when the lightning flashed from outside, but in the dark his appearance betrayed nothing. Spencer, who thought himself worthy to be God, who aspired to be immortal, had grown frail and weak in both mind and body. Wesker doubted that Spencer even suspected that one of his own 'children' would dare strike him until Wesker's hand was through his chest. The arrogance was sickening: Spencer came face to face with true power, and still thought himself above it.

 

The Wesker children – the Wesker 'project'... that was what he was: an experiment, a manufactured human being; one step away from being artificial.

 

Wesker had much higher aspirations. While Spencer had become a senile old man, his words had not been entirely for naught. It appeared that Spencer had taken away everything that Wesker had known in one fell swoop, but he gave something back as well. Wesker understood his purpose now – his _right_ in this world, as it was always meant to be.

 

Wesker did not often believe in fate; he had spent too much of his life in science for that. His mind saw evolution, the rise of those superior to others. The concept of destiny had little definition to him, seeming terribly vague. Fate was a flimsy idea that seemed beyond control, and Wesker firmly believed life was something to be defined by his own choices. He hesitated on that now, and not only because Spencer proved him wrong. Spencer did shatter him, exposing his entire life as a carefully laid map, betraying none of his decisions to truly be his own, but there was something else before that which Wesker made question fate early on.

 

It was when he found his life to be stubbornly bound to another.

 

When he thought about Chris Redfield, he imagined a thin but excessive chain between them: the bond was light as string, but strong as steel, and never actually pulled taut. Chris could not wander very far, always drawn back towards Wesker by some design. Even when their goals seemed separate, something would pull the two together again. Years passed where they did not meet, but their goals, their lives, remained intertwined. Wesker did not think there would be a way to break the connection, no matter how much strength he gained, even if he named himself God – and even if he ended Chris's life; Chris would still remain on his end of the chain, dead weight and dragging.

 

After all, every being needed an antithesis; there could be no Gods without Man to worship them. He also knew, of course, that his fate would forever be opposed by that man – and proof of that burst through the mansion door with a cry of his name.

 

Chris couldn't have known that Wesker would be here; he was likely looking for the man who now lay dead at Wesker's feet. Even so, Wesker felt it only fitting. Of all the people to interrupt his latest reverie...

 

Chris had far surpassed what Wesker would have ever imagined him capable of. Chris was stubborn, but in the end he was simply human, and Wesker would be a God.

 

It always came down to a matter of Gods and Men...

 

Chris fired his gun, and he should have known by now that it would do him no good. Wesker moved too quickly to be followed, and disarming Chris of his gun was child's play. He threw Chris to his back, the resulting groan of pain echoing against the high walls.

 

Wesker knelt down on the floor next to Chris. He cupped his face, the blood on his gloves smearing across Chris's cheeks like war paint. Chris flinched, his eyes widening when he realized just what that slick contact meant, and Wesker did not let him squirm away. He snatched Chris by the collar of his uniform and dragged him from this room and into another instead. Wesker did not want to linger here, trapped with Spencer's corpse. It clouded his mind too much, and he needed to think – especially now that he had Chris.

 

More threads of fate, that he could come here on this night of all times...

 

How much did Chris find, Wesker wondered, that led him to this place. Did he learn of the Wesker project, and Spencer's twisted little designs? Did it make him angry, or relieved? Wesker himself had difficulty piecing through his own reactions; they were suffocating things that felt far too human.

 

Wesker didn't like it.

 

Chris was speaking, barking threats and vows to end this – oh, the usual claims that had precious little backing to them. Wesker paid no attention to it. Chris was in no position to make good on his challenges; he never was. He survived out of stubbornness and dumb luck – and when Wesker allowed him to survive. He could have killed Chris so many times before, and he never let himself complete the act.

 

He had, perhaps, always felt conscious of the chain, and that the dead weight that could drag him under and drown him. Chris was connected to him, and that had meaning. Their conflict was an important one, something Wesker did not anticipate, and he could tell that their ending would be different. Chris could have died in the mansion, shot in the chest before Wesker even revealed the Tyrant to him. Chris could have died on Rockfort Island, strangled by Wesker's fingers around his throat. Chris could have died here, pierced through the chest like Spencer before him. But no; something wouldn't have been right about that. Wesker still felt the presence of the chain, and if that bond wasn't snapped first, then Chris could not be killed. To do so otherwise would surely kill them both.

 

His thoughts were growing a bit dramatic. Spencer's words had felt him shaken – for lack of a better word. Knowing his whole life had been plotted, planned, had disturbed him down to his core. It wasn't _his_ life; it never had been. It was only another project.

 

But Chris hadn't been planned. Chris had been brought into this by his own design, handpicked for STARS by Wesker himself. Chris had belonged to him and him alone. The bond between them wasn't formed by Umbrella or Spencer's sick design. If it had gone as Umbrella wished, then Chris would never have survived the Mansion. Instead, he shackled himself to Wesker, and spent his life chasing him, tied to him.

 

Intertwined.

 

Wesker had realized this once before, thinking it mere coincidence, but now he saw much more to it.

 

He had to free himself of the chain before he could kill Chris – but did he want to do it? Chris was the one choice in his life that Wesker knew to be his own, unplanned and free of manipulation. Chris was his individuality. Chris was his _identity_.

 

Chris wasn't meant to die, Wesker was certain of it – at least, not like this. If Wesker was to be a God, then Chris would be the definition of everything in Men. Chris would be beneath him, but he would not worship him. He would be mortal and arrogant, defiant.

 

Wesker _welcomed_ it. Feeling Chris submit would be belittling to all their time together. What made Chris unique was his will, the strength he showed in spite of his frail humanity. If he broke Chris, then everything would have lost all meaning.

 

They would remain connected, chained together, and their fate as one was inescapable.

 

Wesker imagined what it would be like to feel that excessive chain had it been tangible. He could picture it so clearly, tangling between them and keeping them close. Had the bond truly been real, Wesker could have grabbed hold of it, drawn Chris close, bound him down and kept him in place – and likewise Chris could have done the same. He thought of Chris yanking by his end of the chain, dragging Wesker down and restraining him. Wesker shivered slightly, more enticed than he expected by the concept.

 

If there was anyone left who could kill him, it would be Chris – human, ordinary Chris. It didn't come down to a matter of physical strength or a superior mind; it was something else entirely, and it was difficult to define.

 

There was an equality that he had to confess: if a part of Chris belonged to him, then a part of Wesker belonged to Chris as well. What Wesker owned of Chris was the sharpest manifestation of his willpower, but what did Chris own in return? Perhaps it was some pathetic remnant of his humanity, though Wesker was not certain which.

 

Chris kept thrashing, and Wesker held him easily. His bloodied fingers left stains on Chris's shirt, and he started shouting again, disturbed by Wesker's silence. There was a great deal that Chris wouldn't understand right now, or would never understand at all, and Wesker wanted him to – he wanted it so strongly that it brought a rare anger to the surface, and it gave him pause.

 

Ah, that was it.

 

Chris owned something very, very dangerous, and luckily for him, he would never recognize it. If he ever did realize, Chris could destroy him. If Wesker let that slip, there would be a weakened link in the chain where Chris could snap loose, and strangle Wesker with the remaining length. He knew this, and yet he did not find himself any less compelled.

 

After all, that was what this connection meant: being truly _helpless_ to something, so much that it was beyond control. Vulnerability.

 

Chris looked so different after so many years. His eyes were wide, blue and bold, and his lips were just slightly parted for his shallow breaths, betraying his exertion. The sunglasses hid Wesker's stare, which was focused on Chris's open mouth.

 

Against all better thought, Wesker pressed their lips together.

 

Chris could break away and go if he wanted; Wesker wouldn't stop him, since it mattered precious little whether he did or not. They were still bound together, and they would be reunited again before long, as they always were. The chain was still strong, and neither of them could break free of it yet; they could not break free of one another.

 

Neither of them _wanted_ to be free – that became obvious to him when Chris lifted his hands, cupping the back of Wesker's head and returning the kiss.


End file.
